IPS 3507 

0717 
IV6 
1921 
Copy 1 



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iJOlli^YH'a 



Copyrighted, 1921 



VOYAGERS 

AND OTHER VERSES AND BALLADS 
. . . BY , . . 

Stanley Donovan 




You led me on; and if percliance I falter, 
Or stoop to that irhicli is not ivorthy, lead 

Me ever up; if I profane the altar 

Of your high hopes, I shall be lost indeed! 






Dotvn in the inner soul of me 
Whose sacristy is all my oivn, 

I know that I alone may see — ■ 
I stand alone. 

Within this heart of hate and fear, 
Of love and passion and desire, 

Mine is the kingdom; smoidders here 
The eternal fire. 

And tho' this world make mock of me, 
Or hear me upivard to the Throne, 

I know that I alone may see — 
I stand (done! 



DEC 31 7 



C1A656450 



Pogag^rs 



Many years I sought no place here and would scorn to lie 
) Here at length within the haven, while the fleets were sailing hy, 

AVhile the tattle-flags were streaming and our banner in the 
] sky 

: Tossed beyond yon battered headland, as we sheered away to 

sea, 
[ We that sunk the fleets of Slavers — we that saw the Slave set 
> free. . . . 

Ay, but now it is no matter: there is no more neod for me! 

Strange, to be lying here now lapt in ease 

Who lately was so blown upon ! 1 taste 

The heady dregs of lasting memories: 

jSTo sickly aftermath — no hope nor haste ! 

What have I now but watching o'er the seas. 

Who lately was so blown 

Among the moving tides and swifter foam. 

Far, far from these lowlands that men call horiie ? 

The long sea line. 

Tapering in its sun-lit fastnesses. 

Its grave aridity — 

Tapering to gray distances, blue haze 

And purple shadows far ; 

Myriad points of pure Avhite light that glitter on the 

brine. 
Dance shoreward and weave lazily a broken line; 
The flashing loom that, seaman says. 
Wove destinies for ships at sea 
And caught the falling star. 

0, if I could but compass all I see. 

And let my soul run out, as yon bleak coast 

Shouldering into the arid light of noon 

One 



AVitli utter dignit}- — 

Piercing the beauty and the mystery; 

Piercing the menacing void, the winter moon. 

The huge air-castles soaring, and the host 

Of mists and storm-clouds moving ceaselessly! 

My quest might then be ended 

In all security. 

then a sunset splendid 

Might bring some peace to me ! 

Even as they who gazed 

Across the verge mist-ridden and sun-hazed — 
"Who brings us tidings of a younger world! 
Let him be praised — be praised ! 

"No more the huge expanse 
May yield us argosies, 
Nor laden fleets enhance 
The tumult of the quays. 

"Rest here and seek no Islands of the Blest, 
Sail thou not East nor Vv^est; 
To sleep and dream and sleep were best — 
Turn thou and rest!" 

Strong are the bonds that keep us from lone ways; 
We are not loath to leave the Works and Days 
And idle as men idle ; everywhere 
Burst the spent bubbles of their idle i>raise^ — 
Fair things — lor were it sense to call them fair, 
So blown and so. departed? — fit subject for despair! 

Unresting seas call sullen in the dark 
And all the coast re-echoes. I have heard 
That voice that sounds from out the deep — hark 
To that imperious word! 



Sullen it may he, heavy with dull care, 
Yet all the night throbs, and th e outer air 
Is lightened of the &ilence of despair. 
Sullen it may he: let me then be stirred 
To that dull care and ancient restlessness. 
Haply I look beyond — I can but guess; 
I look within and find no guerdon there ! 

Eest here? 1 fain would rest, ah, fain recline 

On what I have — old age is very hard; 

The seas call loud and deep, the heavens are starred, 

The old lamp's beacon, and all things combine 

To what ? . . . give me some old hulk that bore 

Brave hearts that dared die to the seats of war, 

And head her West, and nail her flag before 

My dying eyes — the flag that I may guard — 

I will not ask for more. 



Three 



(U^ptai 



ams 



Out of the firmament. 
Nebulas, chaos, 
They that array us 
Each in his permanent 
Del 03 or Devon, — 

Come you the unafraid, 
Strong and yet gentle. 
What if Death's mantle 
Cover you?' Ye liave made 
Ways unto Heaven. 

You of eternity, 
You the undying, 
Heed to our crying; 
Heal man's infirmity, 
Bridge the Seas Seven! 



Four 



^n ^mgrna 



Te]] me, Love, if we shall be 
Always bound siipenially, 
Like the vines that grow^ together; 
Or, like clouds in stormy weather, 
Shall we nestle up so nearly 
That the one we love most dearly 
Groan for space, and dreadful thunder 
Drown the words of lovef — I wonder. 

When the gods have i)ut to sea 
In a ship with you and me ; 
Wlien the moans of men behind us. 
When the last lone ties that bind us 
Sink beyond the whitened wake, 
"And there's not a heart to break" — 
You and I embarked together, 
Shall we find no stormy weather? 



Five 



Ptstnrg ^ymks 



I am tlie last of your fathers ; 

I am burdened with toil and prayer; 
There was nothing I would not tackle, 

There was nothing I would not dare ; 
And you seek me, the seed of my efforts ; 

These centuries past you have come 
To the shrine of forgotten knowledge, 

And you have not found me dumb. 

From the mouths of forgotten peoples, 

From the ]ii)S of forgotten saints, 
They seek, with their endless burthens, 

They seek, with their ceaseless plaints, 
Some Word of a holy birthright, 

Whose accent I have not heard; 
But they turn in the end to my hovel. 

And they haik in the end to my Word ! 

I see them in dusty columns, 

In the heat of an August noon ; 
I mark their dreadful passage 

By the bones on a desert dune ; 
I see them forever arriving, 

Departing for nowhere, it seems. 
And I mark with an infinite wonder 

Their multitudes of dreams ! 

And the End comes not to my knowledge, 

Whither ye wend or go, 
But a memory of brave things done here, 

Of the things that have been I know. 
But dreams : if you ask for a vision, 

Go get you a prophet anew, 
I have only the knowledge of living, 

And my dreams have all come true. 



Six 



As dry as the dust of the desert, 

As bleak as an arotie wind, 
You may gaze in my eyes forever, 

And I grudge you not what you find. 
If some portion of truth you cherish, 

I will mark you aright, my son. 
For the Liar alone must perish 

In the light of a thing well done. 



Seven 



Aftermath 



(^ 

We who have seen red death come swiftly to our kind, 

Seen them depart like children called to a mother's arms, 
We who have left the dreadful taint and the scars of war be- 
hind, 
Hope against hope that we may forget — we sound no fresh 
alarms. 
Weary of lust and blood and shame, we ask some peace on earth. 
Some chance reward of the holocaust, we who lifted the bond : 
And our words come bellowing back to us, ''Your triumph's of 
little worth — 
''Better the bloody paths of war than the dull dead years 
beyond ! ' ' 

Behold the wheels that have ground alway, they are grinding 
faster now. 
And the weary men go down to toil even as you to war. 
You have seen old evils tramx^led down, and they spring, it 
boots not how. 
Fresh from forgotten yesterdays, and flaunt and flourish 
once more ! 

We who have toiled these weary miles beneath a mocking sky. 
Traversed the horrible bloody wastes of the Argonne and the 
Somme, 
Died on the Marne and the Yser, and were not ashamed to die 
For a glorious snow-white standard borne high on a splendid 
dawn — ■ 
This we have seen and followed far, strong peoples in their 
pride ; 
And who shall say these dreams of ours were vain and fool- 
ish and fondf 
But the truth comes bellowing back to us— "Some one has 
lied — has lied! 
"Better the bloody paths of war than the dull, dead years 
beyond ! ' ' 

Eight 



Behold the wheels that have ground alway, yon have greased 
them with your gore; 
Ton wage new war on a stricken foe — you starve whom you 
once had fought; 
And the weary men go down to toil, even as you to w^ar, 

And the wheels go round — and tlie wheels go round — hut 
where 's the Peace we bought! 



Nine 



i|tta-dlHp 







The incoming host of seas tliat shatter themselves in laughter, 
And hiss on the stricken beach at the combers following after — 
They sing me a song of my own, my bnckies of the sea; 
From the dull-green shuddering depths they chant it heartily. 
The spendthrift seas that press— they have roared the ditty 

long; 
With white locks jauntily tossed and grizzled flanks that throng 
To an infamous kind of finish; but you'll ever hear them cry 
For an inshore wind and a bit of a squall and the cloud-wrack 

scurrying by. 

I, in my harbor fastness, or fronting the open sea, 

I hear them — the desperate buckles — -a-chanting heartily. 

They spin me their endless sagas, of open sea or bay; 

Of derelicts, sunken treasure and cargo gone astray; 

Of the ends and the aims of seafaring — vain echoes of deep- 
sea lore. 

Forever they chatter and gossip, but they've alwaj^s some- 
thing more. 

Like the creaking gulls that comb them for the refuse of the 
tide, 

To pass unheard with the wreaths of oil where ships at anchor 
ride. 



Ten 



t/ 



m^XtZ ^XMV^ 



Eleven 



They have made no mean eomplaint, 

Their songs are not of pain; 
No tears were shed for their graveless dead, 

Whose teeth gleamed through the rain. 

Their lips move not in agony 

l^or mercy of the Lord; 
They heed not prayer, nor douht, nor care, 

Who are welded to the Sword. 

But ere the rumble of the guns. 

Their faded columns go, 
God grant that there he some — he some 

To seek and share and. know! 



Twelve 



^Rnut^-^tep 



Drag your feet — I'm draggin' mine! Pick 'em ii[) an' set 'em 

down ! 
Don't you think o' notliin' — ain't no use o' thinkin' now; 
Get your pack a-ridin' easy — we're leavin' this here town, 
Headed God knows where today — we'll get there anyhow. 
Leavin' this here town today. Ain't it mean to leave 
AVhen you got new billets an' you won a fiiond; 
When some dark-eyed maiden sympathizes when you grieve 
For the things you'll never get! Well, it's got to end! 

Drag your feet — I'm draggin' mine! Hear the hob-nails 
clumpin' down 
On the cobbles echoin' up the village street — 
Clinkety-clink-clink-clink-clink-clink — ^movin' thro' the town. 
In the early mornin' you can hear them draggin' feet, 
Movin' out an' movin' in; thousands of 'em following, 
Some up Front an' some retum'n' — who's the lucky ones? 
Get your pack a-ridin easy — hold the Colum's swing — 
Get your feet to marchin' to the music o' the Guns! 

Pick 'em up an' set 'em down; keep your eyes ahead o' you — 
Keep 'em on the shoulders o' the man you're just behind; 
You'll find it's long kilometers they're passin' by instead 

o' you. 
An' you'll drag thro' with the Colum' in a cheerful frame o' 

mind. 
Don't I know she weighs a ton? Don't I hear you groan 
When the straps cut in an' tug, A\a^enchin' at your spine? 
When the muscle of your shoulder's just a raw red bone, 
You're soldierin', you're soldiei-in'! if you stick, you're doin' 

fine. 

Tliirteen 



Drag your feet — I'm draggin' mine! Pick 'em up an' set 

'em down! 
Route-ste}) — don't it never c«id? I do it in my sleep; 
I'm seasick with the swing of it — I'm crazy with the sound — 
I see them brown backs heavin' like a herd of 0. D. sheep! 
Left hand liooks the gun-sling, right hand swingin' free, 
Head bent low an' pullin' like a mule, 
All the way from Breteuil to the Seine, an' to the sea. 
All the way from Chaumont into Tout! 



Foiii'tetil 



(Eantigi 



ttr 

Cantigiiy town we took it — ('a]iti.i>iiy town it fell 

To a liiindred tons o' Yankee steel — bnt sa\, that place was 

hell! 
They left us an' forjj;-ot us, where the ni,i>lit sky blay^ed an' 

shook, 
An' slee]) was a forgotten thing — we earnt the ground we 

took! 

They throwed u]) hills where there was roads ; they shot froin 

God knows wliere, 
An' there was gas an' worse than gas wliei'e tliefe use<l to 

be some air. . . . 

Soisson was soniethin' awful an' the Meuse Argonne was 

tough, 
But Cantigny was the linut — it's there we got enough! 

Holjow-eyed an' V)lue we was, the ])Oor ol' hungry First, 
Coniin' out or erawlin' baek, jus' hungriness an' thirst — 
Jus' stiekin', stiekin', stickin', jus' waitin' for relief- 
Say, you an' nie has got the guts to do things past belief? 

Cantigny town, we took it — Cantigny town it fell 
To a gray-faced herd o' lunatics out o' a ])rivate hell. 
An' I don't know whether Jerry ever re'lized what he done 
When he tried to ]H:)ld a doughboy from his wooly an' his 
slum ! 



■firtepn 



©il^ ^utittg ®rml 



I've smelt the dnst o' Luzon in this crooked German street^ 
Where there ain't no dnst nor 'dobe-itch — but there's fever 

in my feet; 
An' I can't forget a cravin' for the smells of ol' Buting 
Since they buried me here in Andernach — that's why I love 

to sing: 

No more, no more, to distant ports, 

To 'Frisco's shore I'll sail; 
As I learnt to do in Nineteen-Two, 

I'll hit the Buting Trail, 
With a square-faced bottle under your belt — 

you may weep an' wail. 
But you'll never ffet back to the bamboo shack 

At the end o' the Buting Trail! No mo'! 
No mo ' ! 

It's the end o' the Buting Trail! 

Yah! here am I, in an alien land, away from my native kind, 
Tryin' to think tlie Rheinischer Hof fits into my frame o' 

mind. 
There's a little shotz with the reddest cheeks and the bluest 

eyes on earth. 
But when I dream o' Paisai Beach, what is her lovin' worth? 

No more, no more . . . etc. 

I've trailed the gentle Moro among the Jolo Hills, 
But it ain't them nasty bolo-men — it ain't the knife that kills; 
It's the never-endin' sunshine an' the sicknin' Yenshee heat 
That drugs a doughboy's memories an' soothes his itchin' 
feet! 

No more, no more . . . etc. 

Sixteen 



Where the ragged bamboos fringe the sky an' the stately 

coco's nod, 
Where the little brown squaw that I used to know made love 

to her wooden god, 
Where the lizard sings like a mockin' h'wd out there in tlie 

gleamin' dew, 
It gets in your blood, it runs in your blood, it eats through 

the veins of you! 

No more, no more . . . etc. 

So when you meet a family man, don't greet him with a grin, 
But take a look at the gorgeous Gook that learnt him the ways 

o' sin, 
At Stotzenburg, Calcocan, Batangas an' — ^Buting! 
But they buried me here in Andernach — that's why I love 
to sing; 

No more, no more, to distant ports. 

To 'Frisco's shore I'll sail; 
As I learnt to do in Nineteen-Two, 

I'll hit the Buting Trail, 
With a square-faced bottle under your l)elt — 

An' the world may chase its tail. 
But you'll never get back to the bamboo shack 
At the end o' the Buting Trail! 

No mo.'! 
It's the end o' the Buting Trail! 



Seventeen 



jHantabctr 



]\I()iit(ih(ir, M ouidJxii., 

Where the vdifut' hoop-t rains are — 
You'll rjet your private ear 
In Motdahar! 

Hikin' into Montabar, (J that day to me, 

Headed oiita Deuelilaiit, headed for the sea; 

Nine montlus on the Rliine it was — it seemed a century! 

Hikin' into Montabar, the air was fnll o' song; 

Everything- looked right that (hiy an' not a thing looked 

wrong; 
Tlio' it's twenty odd kilometers, it don't seem half that long! 

Hikin' into ]\Iontabar through the German i)ines. 

The sun a-danein' on tlie steel where the column winds — 
there's liglit liearts an' glad hearts along those swingin' 
lines! 

Hikin' into Montabar, down from Noohauzell, 
The fraus an' frauleins, bless 'em! we'll wish the darlin's well, 
With their big feet an' their tliick heads — now don't they 
look like hell ! 



Eigineen 



(Destroyers of the ("oii\o_v) 

Some talk o' tlie floatiii' fortresses, 

The l)ullies o' the Fleet, 
The Dreadiiaught an' the Man o' War 

Where speed an' power meet^ — 
Tlie !ollo|)in', tliunderin', blmiderin' things, 

They don't ai)i)eal to me; 
Jns' gimme the lionnds, the last little lioiiiids, 

The little gray hounds o' tlie sea! 

Some talk o' the gallant Cruiser, 

An' some o' the wicked Sub, 
An' some I know would be willin' 

To go to sea in a tub; 
Bu-t me for the neat little darlin's^ — 

I think you'll all agree 
There's notliin' can touch the fast little hounds, 

The little gray hounds o' the sea! 

They roll like a sea-goin' biscuit-tin 

An' pitch like a cork in a gale; 
They can s]nn around on a racin' screw 

Like a kitten chasin' its tail; 
They can slouch along an' loaf along 

As easy as can be, 
Till they're up an' oft* an' belchin' soot, 
. The little gray hounds o' the sea! 

Jus' watch her roll on the flanks of a swell 

An' lazy into a trough, 
Draggin' he wliisi)erin' foam along, 

An' comin' up with a cough; 



MiiPtefn 



You'd think she rides like a crippled duck,- 

But take a tip from me — 
There's nothin' can touch the fast little hounds, 

The little gray hounds o' the sea! 

It may be rough on a weary crew 

In the Bay of Biscay 0, 
To buck head-on through as mean a swell 

As U. S. seamen know; 
With her decks a-wash an' her funnels under, 

She's divin' lithe an' free; 
But you can't shake the dust o' the fast little hounds, 

The little gray hounds o' the sea! 

They've enough aboard to sink a fleet, 

They're floatin' magazines, 
An' the Convoy hugs 'em mighty close, 

Knowin' what powder means; 
For we don't crave the shudderin' wave — 

It don't appeal to me. 
Jus' gimme the hounds, the fast little hounds, 

The little gray hounds o' the sea! 



'vvcnly 



^tl|tc0 oi the ^Jlrnt 



Don't never ram yonr rifle from the muzzle; 

Don't never boil yonr web-ec^nipment, too; 
An' if yonr pack an' carrier proves to be a I'liinese ])nzzlo, 

Don't hesitate to find out what to do; 
Don't talk back when a lance-jack hurts your feelin's 

(He's had his hurted, 30U can bet your hat), 
An' if he gets excited an' you feel that you are slighted. 

Don't hesitate to find out where you're at. 

Because — 
Tlie Army don't want reasons, 

The Army don't Avant lip; 
You signed awa}' your argument when you took this little 

trip; 
So if you run hog-wild, your treatment won't be mild. 
An' don't forget my tip! 

Don't never crab about your kitchen duty; 

There's dirtier jobs than them potato peelin's, 
An' often round the rations you can get your share o' booty; 

You can fill yonr belly while they hurt your feelin's! 
Don't never go on Guard Mount 'til you're fit; 

A dirty rifle or a dirty shirt 
Will get you more hard feelin's than a ton o' potato i^eelin's, 

So don't you never l)e afraid 0' dirt! 

Bcrause — 
The Army don't want loafers, 

The Army don't want lip; 
You ditched ol' Missus Liberty when you took this little 
trip; 

Twenty- one 



So keep your 'qiiipment clean, or they'll treat you miglity 
mean, 
An' don't forget my tip! 

Don't never fool witli liquor 'til you know it; 

Don't never get your nose wet 'til you're sure 
You can tote it like a gentleman — 'but you are bound to 
show it; 

An' your chance o' gettin' by is mighty poor. 
So don't you let no trooper feed you liquor; 

It's his delight an' pride to get you down 
With his black-jack an' his dancin' dice — women an' 
drink are mighty nice 

When the soldier hits the town! 

Because — 
The Amy don't want Holy Joes 

Nor crave the Chaplain's lip; 
You signed away salvation when you took this little trip; 
So watch your step now, Rooky, 

An' don't forget my tip! 



'rvverily-two 



©ranp Pttcl|ms 



{Pontanezan.) 

If strollin' clown the Rue Siam with a bale o' paper francs 

An' fallin' in with other peranibnlatin' tanks; 

If nieetin' up with mam'zells, niakin' love an' keepin' wet — 

If that was all there was to war, hoy, I'd he there yet! 
It's the Kitchens — stinkin' Kitchens — 
The rotten ol ' troop-kitchens down at Brest ! 

If liikin' down to Lamouzellac, down the ol' hack was^ 
Where I used to climb a garden wall an' meet my fiance; 
If whisperin' "Ma bebbee, toot sweet!" to ray little 'Onriette — 
If that was all there was to war, hoy, I'd he there yet! 
It's the Kitchens — greasy Kitchens — 
The sloppy ol ' troop-kitchens down at Brest ! 

If hikin' down to Lamouzellac, down to the ol' Cafe 
Across from the Cathedral, where the ladies used to stray; 
Where I met my liose o' No Man's Land an' swore, the day 

we met, 
If that was all there was to war — hoy, I'd he there yet! 
It's the Kitchens — mucky Kitchens — 
The drippin' ol' troop-kitchens down at Brest! 
Field-kitchens roUin' up behind the hungry tightin' lines — 
The soldier gets to love 'em, an' he don't care where he dines; 
When everything looks good to you, no matter what you get — 
If that was all there was to war, hoy, I'd he there yet! 
It's the Kitchens — floatin' Kitchens — 
The big sea-goin' Kitchens down at Brest! 

AVlien you've been standin' hours in an everlastin' line 
For a half a pint o' pasty rice an' a mildewed bacon rin', 
You learn the value of the drink an' lovin' that you get — 
If that was all there was to war, hoy, I'd he there yet! 
It's the Kitchens — steamin' Kitchens — 
The big hog-waller Kitchens down at Brest ! 

Twenty-tliree 



P^stg 



Where tlie Pateig winds beneath the walls of 01' Manila town, 
An' the lazy water loafs along, with a casco floatin' down, 
With the flash of a tropic sun a-hittin' an eddy here an' there. 
You don't care where you meet 'em an' you don't care what 
they wear 

'Long side o' Pasig! 

Eattlin' over to the Fort 
With the leavin's of a quart 
In your little carametta, gaily singin' 
0' the days that used to be 
Far across the Eastern sea — 
It's cathedral bells a-ringin'! 

In a bamboo Nipa drawin' room you scoff your fish an' rice, 
An' tinker with their Island gin an' various kinds o' vice; 
She uiay be coffee-colored an' she ma}" be skin an' bone — 
You ain't much carin', Soldier, when you're far away from 
home, 

'Long side o' Pasig! 

She may be pure Tagolog or a pale mestiza queen; 

Her dress may be a frantic pink, or a briglit an' bilious 

green; 
An' maybe she don't know you, but she'll greet you with a 

smile. 
For the necessary pesos an' the time to stay a while 
'Long side o' Pasig! 

Her skin's like powdered ivory, her hair's as black as ink; 
She's got some Spanish features, tbo' she's mostly Gook, I 
think. 

Twenty- four 



All' when the blazin* siiii goes down I take the eveniii' air 
An' wamble down to the Barrio, 'cause T know she's waitin' 
tliere, 

'Long side o' Pasig'! 

Eattlin' over to tlie Foit 

With a w^eek-old guard-report 

In your little carainetta — maybe thinkin' 

0' the days that might 'a' been 

If you'd never hit the gin, 

Nor took to drinkin'- — drinkin'! 



Twentj'-llvp 



Hayti an' Luzon, tlie Border an' France — 
I was a sergeant when you was a Lance' — 
I was steppin' in doe-skin 'fore you was in pants! 

There 's a lot o ' disputation in the U. S. Infantry 
Concernin' rank an' knowledge — makes me nevous 

To set around an' listen to the talk they sling at me; 
But the thing that cuts-the mustard is your Service — 
It's four years with the Colors an' three years on Reserve! 

I've hiked from far Batangas to the mud o' San Meh'il; 

I've collected some few trophies in my day; 
I've learnt the proper way to drink, an' the proper way to kill, 

An' the proper way to shed my monthly pay; 
I'm a coffee-coolin' has- been, an' the youngest Lance he'll say 
When down the Buting Trail I chance to stray, 
"The booze has got him bad — 
Pore ol' Smithy!" Ain't it sad? 
But he'll hike j^ou, drill you, kill you, blind an' gray! 

Service, Service, 

How you goin' to get it? 
Tell him. Soldier, 

How he's goin' to get it — 
By stickin' to the Army thirty years! 

There's a lot o' disputation in the U. S. Infantry 

Concernin' rank an' knowledge — 'makes me nervous! 
But the easiest wa3^'s the shortest way — an' that's the way 
for me — 
An' the thing that cuts the mustard is your Service! 

It's four years with tlie Colors an' three years on Reserve! 

Twenty-six 



Wlien it comes to learnin' rookies liow to pivot an' allign, 

It's "Front an' Center, Private Smith!" that's me. 
When the sergeants all get bnsted an' the corporals resign, 

It's "Front an' Center, Private Smith!" that's me, 
I'm down in the guts o' the Service — yea, brother, here to 

stay — 
But I thank the Lord I'm never in the way, 

' ' The booze has got him bad — 
Pore oP Smithy!" ain't it sad? 
He's the lad can drill you, kill you, blind an' gay! 

Service, Service, 

How you goin ' to get it ? 
Tell him. Soldier, 

How he's goin' to get it — 
By stickin' to the Army thirty year! 



Twenty seven 



^rnm nf O^ccupation 



Fritz, yon an' me lias had some argnment 

Abont tile wlierefor's an' the whyfor's — yah! 
An' tho' we left you, Heinne, badly bent, 

Yet we was more tlian glad to say ta-ta! 
Tho we never did jns' seem to get along, 

Yon gral)bed at me like a cripple at a crntch — 
Which gives me inspiration for my song: 

I never did have much use for the Dutch! 

We had our scrap out, Jerry, an' we showed you how to tight 
The way that men are taught to do that do their scrappin' 

right ; 
We ran you ragged all day long an' we kep' you up at night, 
An' then we came an' boarded with 5^our family! 

Fritz, ^'^ou an' me we ain't affinities; 

The Lord he never meant us to be twins; 
An' when He rolled between us roarin' seas, 

I think He had a hunch — the best man wins! 
You'll need protection, Heinne, right or wrong, 

Bein' in line now for an awful touch — ' 
Which gives me inspiration for ni)^ song: 

I never did have much use for the Dutch! 

We played the game out, Jerry, an' tho' we found yon tough, 
A real ten-carat fighter, yet we called 3- our little blutf ; 
Yes, down at Metz an' Sedan you was glad to yelp "Enough!" 
An' then we came an' boarded with your family. 

Twenty-eight 



Fritz, don't you never go for politics; 

At swingin' votes yon ain't cnt out to sliine; 
An' don't you never try your rusty tricks 

In any foreign port or alien clime, 
'Cause now they're wise, they're holdin' mighty strong, 

An' Fritz der Grosser don't amount to much — 
Whch gives me inspiration for my song: 

I never did have much use for the Dutch ! 

We caught you na|)pin', Jerry, we blacked your royal eye; 
We fed you moral physic 'cause your temp'achoor was higli; 
We swamped you with indignities, an' when you ast us why- 
then we came an' boarded with your family! 



Twenty-nine 



(3ln ^ritt^ng 



In Brittany beside the sea you'll find the greenest fields 
An' little grassy hedges made o' mud — take me back! 
My heart's dead sick with loneliness an' all my spirit yields 
To the clumpety-clump o' marchin' feet an' the drag of a 
heavy pack! 

To my tin-roofed crummy billets, to my chicken-wire bunk. 
To my rank ol' Army bacon, to the ol' mess-shack that stunk. 
They fed me rice an' monkey-meat, stewed prunes, eternal 

slum, 
But they only got to call for me — I'd be fool enough to come! 

The hills o' Brittany 
Rollin' green toward the sea — 
I don't mind sayin'. Soldier, 
There's no place I'd rather be! 

I ain't ashamed I got a thirst for Lamouzellac beer, 
Vin Blanc an' cognac, triple-sec, nigrite rhum an' such; 
They ast me if I noticed it — the dryness over here — 
An' o' course I got to be polite an' groan, ''No, m'am — not 
much ! ' ' 

Jus' take me hs^k in memory to that cow-shed on the road 
To ol' San Marc where my Marie don't care how much I owed. 
It's ''tre joli" an' "ma clieree" an' a million dollar smile — 
Jus' take me back to Brittany an' leave me there a while! 



Thirty 



I never went to say good-bye; I owe her forty francs 
Tn oofs an' pom de terre an rum — that's all she'll get is thanks; 
But she's got a corner of my heart — it's Brittany for me 
When Gabriel blows Assembly, or there's trouble oversea! 

The hills o' Brittany 
Rollin' green toward the sea — 
I don't mind sayin', Soldier, 
There's no place I'd rather be! 



Ttiirty-ono 



^oI|ns — ^cn (3l0i|n0 



If you want to be a soldier man I'll tell you what to do, 

Johns — you Johns! 
Jus' wipe your slate clean first, for you done your level worst, 

Johns — you Johns! 
Make a funeral of your past — you'll forget it mighty fast 
When the Army's got 3'Ou! 

If you want to be a soldier man I'll tell you what to do, 

Johns — you Johns! 
Don't split up your heart in sections, don't contract no strong 
affections, 

Johns — you Johns! 
Don't get hooked up to no skirt, for the leavin' her will hurt 
When the Army's got you! 

If you want to be a soldier man I '11 tell you what to do, 

Johns — you Johns! 
Take the bible off your back, learn to roll a neater pack, 

Johns — you Johns! 
An' you'll get the lastin' love o' the Big Guns up above 
When the Army's got you! 

If 3^ou want to be a soldier man I'll tell 3^ou what to do, 

Johns — 3^ou Johns! 
If you got to, make resistance — when you're ast to quit, take 
distance, 

Johns — you Johns ! 
Don't you try to beat a GalL don't you be or-ig-en-al 
When the Army's got you! 

Tliirty-two 



^erl]ap0 



Perhaps 

When I have done, 
When I am finished quite, 
When ni)^ allotted time is run, 
And to my misted sight 
Fantasy and strange things affront 
My soul with mortal doubt, I'll hunt 
No more the impassioned Bards among 
Whose noblest line is but ill-sung. 
And on that final page discern 
What wise men guess and babes may learn- 
When I have done — 
Perhaps ! 



Tliirty-tliroe 



^ ©oast 



To him who can't forget himself in others 

And find his just reward; 
To her who never gave a thing, but asked more 
In some extortion of the heart or spirit; 

To them that crave discord. 

To all that dingy mob of disbelievers 

Who glimpse no beauty in the open sky, 
Who feel no power in the tides or seasons, 
Who never know yet fasten on half -measures. 

Let's drink — they need it more than you and I! 



'JJiirly foiii- 



If we ever could get our desire, 

Or reach to the ultimate goal; 
If we ever could get any iiigher 

The one Omnipotent Soul; 
If we ever could climb into Hea\en 

And sate the hist craving — how then 
Could we eat of that homely leaven 

That sweetens the lives of men? 

If we ever know all or discover 

What prophets have dared to guess; 
If we breath in the Boy and the Lover 

A marvelous deathlessness; 
If we ever look clown out of Heaven 

And sigh for desire — ^how then 
Can we eat of that homely leaven 

That sweetens the lives of men? 

If to love is only to enter, 

And to hate is only to know; 
If we plumb each thing to the center 

And strip this world as we go 
Of mystery, wonder — and Heaven — 

All Hell may rejoice with us then 
O'er the dust of that homely leaven 

That sweetens the lives of men! 



riiii'ty llvu 



dgpsT^s tti tl]t ^m 



Who would lie becalmed forever 

In this world so wide? Afar 
Loom the Equinox, rough weather 

And the cold bright ocean star. 

Who would hoard up gold for others 

Wherein tliieves break through and steal '? 
Hearth or husbandry soon smothers 
Things the noblest that men feeL 

Who would lie becahnecl and miss her, 
That sweet Syren of the Deep? 

Hold tliy love close, blitliely kiss her, 
And she hath no cause to weep! 



Tliirty-six 



^n6ag 



Think not, in a vain desire, thou shalt rise and totter still 
Thro' the Myriads of the Ultimate at the mandate of thy will, 

Past the roaring of the planets and the flaming of the suns. 
Up among the grave hnmortals, whence no cr}^ of mortal comes. 

Turn thine eyes here, friend, a moment; view thy visions from 

afar ; 
Judge then, look they lovelier to thee than the plain big things 

that are? 

Than the low broad wind-whii)t ocean, moving in its realm of 

liglit; 
Eibbed with foam and domed with azure, starred with diadems 

of night; 

Roaring on its reefs and ledges, dredging thro' its green sea- 
eaves, 

Where the hoarse tides moan and murmur of forgotten deep-sea 
graves ! 

Mightier than the Orb that rides the i)athways of the day; 
^[ightier than the love that laughed and flung all things away! 

Many an hour you lay at rest aiid watched a splendid sun sink 

low, 
On the heights above the dee}) where autumn's dry-sweet odors 

blow ; 

Saw the shi])s loom o'er the verge, there hang a while and pass 

away, 
Loneh" on the wide expanse, fast fading in the throes of day; 

Thirty -seven 



Saw a golden disc arising and a gleaming pathway run 
Full from ont the fruitful East, and saw the stars lit, one 
by one. 

Endless change and endless wonder — w^oiids remoulded in an 

hour — 
Speaking with a whispered night of Life and Death and Pride 

and Power. 

Then you heard, it seemed, a whisper in the moaning of the surf. 
And the sound of voices round you in the wind along the turf. 

And your life came flooding back, with present needs and 

sordid ties, 
All the evils that men blink at, all the loathing and the lies ! 

Her you loved, you thought, with passion, but your passion 

held you down 
To -long days of petty contacts and the turmoil of the town, 

And you bent to fools and knaves, and sold j^our strength and 

pride for bread, 
All your manhood curbed and fettered by the mouths that must 

be fed ! 

You have sat with idle fellows, dull of wit and heavy-eyed ; 
You are drunk with vain desire, you have made a god of pride. 

Say, who's noble t? — he that bares his shoulder to the whip. 
Who gives all for those he lovest most, finds his guerdon lip 
to lip ! 



Tliirty-eig-lit 



(EantjueBl 



He strives with brawn and brain to wrest 
A nobler prize, a clianco reward; 
Even with the Fire and the Sword 

He hnnts the thing he loves best. 

It is not his to hold, but chase; 

It is not his to ask, but earn ; 

He fronts grim Vulcan, face to face, 
And beards him wiiere his stithies burn. 

He strides upon the outward track ; 

Along bleak seas his ramparts frown; 

No tempest beats liis banner down. 
Nor quells his heart, nor turns him back. 



Thirty-nine 



^an>tn^ 



Out liere wliere the avacado 

And the loose-leaved mango sway, 
Where a breath comes down off the mountains 

From valleys far away. 
Valleys of heat and thunder, 

Of labor and dust and sweat — 
We never do much but wonder 

Why the world is forever in debt. 
Not yet! 
Manana — tomorrow we'll do it; 
Manana — just try and forget! 

Tomorrow's an infinite meaning, 

The verge of undone things, 
Wliere the shadows of good intentions 

Meet the ghosts of our blunderings. 
It '11 all work out in season ; 

Manana we'll pay — not yet; 
For tomorrow's an excellent reason 

Why today should be out o' debt! 
'Not yet! 
Manana' — tomorrow we '11 do it ; 
Man ana — just try and forget I 



''orty 



IRomante 



He dreams of her now with her tawny hair ; 
Her slender length that was more than fair — 

How he loved her! 
With her ripple of laughter that set him aflame. 
With her moods and her ways that were never the same ; 
She made him a Thing, but she wasn't to blame — 

He loved her! 

She was only a girl-^eighteen or so — 
But a wondrous power for weal or woe — 

How he loved her! 
The lies he told her, the vows he swore, 
The shameless, nameless things he bore. 
And all for a fool who was half a whore, 

Foi' he loved her! 

Love? It was good enough for him 

To humor and wait on her lightest whim, 

For he loved her! 
To feed on her lies till the tainted sweet 
Grew bitter and stale, like a thing you eat 
Too often — but then he was under her feet. 

He loved her! 

She gave and he gave — it was he who lost ; 
There was never an hour he reckoned the cost, 

For he loved her! 
Till the day she told him, with gearw a frown. 
And he knew beyond doubt that she turned him down, 
That she cast him ot¥ like a passe gown — 

Hoiv he loved her! 



Forty -one 



All the whispered vows, the passionate lies ; 
Yet he could not know that the girl was wise; 

For he loved her ! 
I saw her today, and she passed me by 
With a painted face and a haggard eye. 
It's a curious thing! I wonder why 

He loved her ! 



Forty-twu 



®1|2 Jcbt 



No god of theirs we turn to, no shrine of theirs we hold 

Worthy of our inclement day — with virtues manifold^ 

Out of the past they come to me, these rough-hewn hearts of 

gold ! 
They had no fear of darkness ; broad lands at their behest 
Eose on the rims of unknown seas from out the molten West 
Where the sea-lanes ran with red and gold when the great sun 

sank to rest. 
Their spars are grey with salt sprays, their decks with clotted 

spume, 
Who fronted the livid Arctic Lights where death's dark portals 

loom, 
AVliere mad stars plunge from the zenith and are lost within 

the gloom. 
They sailed from out safe harbors, with the Craven at the wake, 
And the world had neither ban nor bar, and they took — what 

could they take? 
Those were the days that bred the men of Grenville and of 

Drake. 
And many a shattered wreck drifts up to rest in a shallower 

main ; 
They swing with the weed in shadow there, and keep, where 

they have lain, 
Strange vigil with that destiny to which all men attain. 



Forty-tliree 



m^t ^iink 



When the long barrage lias lifted an' the dead lay tliick as flies, 
An' tlie hot sun falls thro' liftin' smoke out-a the brassy skies, 
When your tongue's like the back o' your hand, an' the sting o' 
gas in your eyes — 

The stink, my God, the stinkl 

When vou're out on workin' detail, or you're witli the Night 

Patrol, 
When you've lost your way in the throbbin' dark an' flop in 

some nasty hole, 
An' you land with a scrunch on a rotten corpse, it's then it tries 

your soul — 

Tlic stink, my God, the stink! 

When the slum comes up in G. I. cans an' the Java passes round, 
An' you squat with the chow between your knees on the shakm' 

quakin' ground. 
You may resent war's odors, but you scoff 'em up like a hound — 
The stink, my God, the stink! 

When the evenin' breeze turns round again an' blow's across 

the flat, 
An' lingerin' on each funiin' stiff it flits from this to that, 
An' wafts 'em to your nostrils in the dugout where you're at— 
The stink, my God, the stink! 



Forty- I'our 



l^nxis ^ead^ 



Wluit's the name dii' cluufics, Scif/cdiit.^ 

"It's Private Kelly, sir, 
l/nder influence o' li(inor!" 

('(Ill i/ou fell me irliere you irei'ef 

"In gay Paree — forgot my ])ass! 
Yon can stake nie out to eatin' grass 
For the giddiest goat an' the dunihest ass 
lu the Army!" 

r/iist fake his full nmne, Sergennf, 
And his numher aucl his rani;, 
"His dog-tags call him Kelly, sir, 
But his given name's a blank!" 

"They didn't label me right, you see — 
While monikers is passiii' free. 
There's a usitable name for such as me 

lloiv long's he ahsenf, Sergeuni? 
"It's goin' on six days, sir!" 
Noir tell me, Private Kelly, 
Just tell me where you ire re. 

"I was somewhere round (lare Mont[)arnass, 
Suckin' up drink at a franc a glass — 
That's why I claim I'm the dumbest ass 
There's a usitable name for such as me 



ii-ty-llvn 



Beyoud the baths of a hindly sun, 

Beyond our utmost quest — 
Within the outer hemispheres,. . 
Hateful and hot with heathen, tears. 
With savage hates and uncoutJt fears — 

They hear the ancient test. 

It is th.elr destiny to find 

The untouched day of hope; 

To dig with hands that are wearied now 

For the virgin gold that dreams cdlow; 

To cut their way — they care not how — 
To the light, that they need not grope. 

It is their destiny to see 

Old lines of creed and birth 
Swept like a blot from the new-tilled sod 
That knouts no insolent baron's rod, 
By the stalwart son, half man, half god. 

Who serves no lord on earth. 



l"orty-six 










..'T.,W* 






'■*- Vj*' ,/'»' V,*«*^ vS" <, 4*x * 'i ,*» ■» 





